


One More Bruise

by alby_mangroves, Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Drawing, Fanart, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, did I mention the angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been eleven hours since M changed the status of field agent 007, Commander James Bond, from ‘Active’ to ‘Missing in Action’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Flantastic says;
> 
> Phew!
> 
> After many hours slaving over a hot keyboard, here it is; my offering for the 00Q Reverse Big Bang.
> 
> There were so many gorgeous pieces of art to choose from but only one which immediately told me a story. Q looked so wonderfully sad to me and I immediately knew why. I hope I've done it justice.
> 
> I'd like to thank Alby_Mangroves for her incessant cheerleading and for giving me all the best ideas (and for all the wonderful extra art!) I'd also like to thank my fabulous beta Dhampir72, without who's input, you'd be subjected to the longest sentences known to man. You can thank them both for all the cool bits and blame me for any crappy parts!
> 
> As always, I hang out over on tumblr at iambid.tumblr.com and you're very welcome to come and find me.
> 
> As there's a couple of dubious scenes in this story which might be triggery, if you'd like some more (slightly more spoilery) warnings, please skip to the notes at the end.
> 
> Notes from Alby: Dear lambid, thank you for your wonderful enthusiasm and for being inspired to write this story! It was so lovely working with you <3 Big thank you to Mizufae for the outstanding art beta and to Magnolia822 and Fardareismai for their awesome cheering. Thanks also to destina, adsullata and giselleslash for brainstorming with me! Art can be found [here on my art tumblr](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/104814908289/when-youre-young-buckets-dont-have-holes-in-days).

 

It’s been eleven hours since M changed the status of field agent 007, Commander James Bond, from ‘Active’ to ‘Missing in Action’.

Eleven hours since M ordered Q to go home and get some bloody sleep.

Eleven hours since Q was escorted forcibly out of MI6 and told not to return for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Eleven hours since M snagged Q’s wrist as he passed him and told him quietly that he understood how he must have felt.   Q had all but snarled at him as he pulled his arm away.

M was a fucking liar.

How could he understand how Q felt when Q didn’t?

-

Q walks into his apartment, drops his bag and just… stops.

He stands there for several minutes, staring at the neat front room; it looks identical to the way it looked the last time he was here.  The last time, when he walked out the door as he picked up the voicemail from James telling him that he’d landed safe and sound in St Petersburg.  

The last time he’d heard James’s voice.

The mug he’d had his morning tea in is still there, unwashed, on the kitchen counter   He’d been in a rush after waking to find he’d overslept by almost an hour.  If he’d woken on time he wouldn’t have missed James’s call while he was in the shower…

The shirt he’d meant to drop in to the cleaners for James still lies over the back of the kitchen stool by the breakfast bar.  There is a half-eaten bowl of food on the floor for his cat, Hypatia, so the neighbours have obviously been in feeding her.  John and Mary both work for MI5 and are used to his comings and goings, stepping in when they realise he’s absent.  He so often is these days.   Q thinks in a disconnected kind of way that he should probably thank them and tell them he’s home but it’s late. There’s also a danger they might ask about James and he just can’t deal with that right now.

He walks over to the counter and flicks on the kettle.  The milk will have gone off since he was last home, over week ago, so he prepares his usual Earl Grey without it.  He supposes he should pick a calming blend, something like camomile but camomile soothes and Q doesn’t really think he’s capable of being soothed.  Doesn’t really want to be soothed.  He stands and drinks his tea by the counter.  He sees the half-empty bottle of whiskey that James kept there.

He hates whiskey but he takes off the cap and raises the bottle to his mouth, smelling the spirit.  James drinks… used to drink… straight from the bottle on occasions.  The hint of whiskey on his lips reminds Q of how James would taste when he kissed him after a dram or two. Strangely, he never minded the taste when it was on James’s tongue.

He should pour the whiskey away; he won’t drink it, but the act seems too final, too significant.  So instead he replaces the lid and puts the bottle back where it was.  Better to leave it there.  A stubborn part of him still won’t admit that James is lost.  Not yet.

-

Bond, he’d discovered, was full of surprises.

Funny, good-looking and wonderful in bed (if the noises his marks made when he was seducing them were anything to go by), he was also ruthless, cold and efficient on occasions.  He by turn delighted Q and pissed him off like no other man ever had.  Several times Q wondered if he should just give in and sleep with the man to see if it would curtail his incessant flirting.

Take Japan.  Bond had spent a week investigating a suspected arms dealer who was said to have links to the Yakuza.  He’d managed to blag himself a VIP invitation to the Moto GP motorcycle race at Motegi, which meant he spent three days drinking champagne, chasing brolly girls, and snooping before flying home first class.  He’d not only cracked the case but had done so whilst being pampered like a bloody playboy and yet when he eventually swaggered back into Q-Branch, he didn’t have any of his equipment on him.  Not. One. Sodding. Piece.  Q had shifted his glasses and pinched the bridge his nose in frustration.

“Your radio.” 

“Dropped it into a Jacuzzi.”

“Earpiece?”

“Glass of champagne.”

“Your gun?”

“Threw it in a bin.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I was about to be frisked.”

“What about the chemical tracker I gave you?”

“That was in my luggage...”

“So?”

“… which ended up on the wrong flight.  I think it’s in New Zealand.”

Q sighed and went back to his computer.

“Thank you, 007.  That will be all.”

James glanced around him to check they weren’t being overheard and dropped his voice.

“Can I take you out to dinner later to make it up to you?”

“Well I’m not sure Bond,” Q snapped, in a loud voice that caused more than one of his staff to peer into his office in concern, “I’d give you directions to my flat but I’d be afraid you’d lose them.  In addition, it would have to be a pretty expensive dinner to compensate for the £17,000 dent you’ve just put in my equipment budget.”

James’s face hardened at the sharpness of Q’s tone and he wondered for a moment if he’d hurt the older man’s feelings.  When he nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and abruptly left, Q decided he that really didn’t care either way and went back to checking his emails.

A few hours later, after popping to the canteen for a sandwich, he returned to find a small box on the desk in his office.  Attached to it, scrawled on a Post-it note was the message.   _I’m sorry.  I don’t always lose things. I promise_.  Inside the box was a classic Rolex watch.  It was exquisite.  When he turned it over in his hand, he saw a tiny engraved ‘Q’ on the back plate and he realised that this was one of the previous Quartermaster’s famous creations.

“Boothroyd was proud of that one.”  

Q looked up to see Bond leaning up against the doorframe.

“It has a powerful electromagnet inside it.  It’s supposed to be strong enough to deflect the path of a bullet.  It also has a spinning bezel.  I can’t tell you how handy that was in getting me out of a tight situation."

Q turned it over in his hand.  He could see extremely fine modifications had been made to the casing.  He jumped a little when Bond spoke again.  He had been so engrossed he hadn‘t heard the agent move to stand beside him.

“I don’t try to lose the equipment you give me… I used to do the same to Boothroyd and he…”  Bond fell silent for a moment as he remembered his old Quartermaster.  “I wasn’t able to keep many of the things he made me but that one I managed to save.  It’s always been special to me.  I know he was special to you...  Took you under his wing when you first worked here… I thought you might like it.”

Q felt a flash of irritation that the agent would think that he could get around him so easily.  He looked at the watch in his hands and laughed at himself when he realised it was working.  He held it up to him.

“Show me how it works?”  

He blushed as Bond leaned over and, wrapping his hand around Q’s, showed him where the hidden trigger points were.

-

He showers.

He hasn’t been home at all for the last ten days and there’s only so much one can do with a single change of clothing and the roll-on deodorant he keeps in his office drawer.  Not that he cares.  He’s been too busy going over the data from the warehouse explosion and the subsequent fire.

There was CCTV to comb through, satellite images to steal from a Russian database, the CIA to liaise with, eyewitness accounts taken by the local police to examine… anything and everything he could think of to help him understand how the fuck James had manage to escape without detection and where he might be now.

He hadn’t given up.  He still hadn’t given up when Mallory and Tanner and two security personnel had arrived in his branch.  They tried to get him to back down and he’d made rather a scene.  He’d shouted and pleaded as M had firmly sent him on his way.

Bond was gone, Mallory had said.

( _no_ )

No-one saw him leave the building prior to the explosion, he said.

( _no_ )

They found five male corpses burnt beyond recognition, he said.

( _no_ )

The odds against Bond’s survival were overwhelming, he said.

( _no_ )

The only thing Tanner had said was that he was sorry…

Q steps forward under the warm spray and lets it soak his hair.  He rubs shampoo into it and tries not to think about how James loves… loved… to do this for him.  How he would teasingly call Q a hippy but had never been able to stop himself from toying with it constantly whenever they were alone.  He shivers despite the warmth of the water.  He can’t let himself think about any of that just now.  Once rinsed, he turns off the faucet and steps out of the stall.  Going to the sink to clean his teeth he gazes listlessly at the items scattered around it.  Cotton buds, aftershave (both his and James’s), two brands of toothpaste, two toothbrushes, two brands of moisturiser, two brands of shaving foam, two razors, a bottle of Bio-Oil…

He picks up the small white-capped bottle and wonders who he can ask now to rub the oil into the scars that pepper his back.

 

 

-

Q had awoken in world of pain and confusion.

His ears were ringing, his eyes were watering, his back was on fire, and every breath tasted like vomit.  He had no memory of how he’d gotten there (wherever ‘there’ was) and he was scared shitless.  His head pounded and he began to struggle as he realised that there were hands on him, holding him face-down and pulling at his clothing.  He tried to speak, to tell them no, but his throat was too dry to form words.  Instead he screamed, howling out his distress.  He lashed out, catching something with his elbow before his arm was twisted to the

( _ground?_ )

bed and pinned.  He tried to plead with them as he felt his clothing cut away.  No.  Not this.  Please not this.  He sobbed as he was manhandled.  He always thought he would fight to the death rather than be raped, but there were just too many of them.  They were too strong.  Voices murmured above him as his underpants were removed and he screamed again, twisting in his captors grip as his panic intensified into complete terror.  Voices told to him sternly to relax and co-operate. 

He suddenly became aware of another voice.  Raised over the others.  It sounded angry.  It told them to leave him the fuck alone.  Couldn’t they see he was panicking?  Did they not realise what he’d been exposed to?  Abruptly the hands left him and a gentle palm smoothed the side of his face.

“Q. Q?  Tom?  Open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

Q squinted dazedly at the speaker.  James was smiling down at him.  He pressed a straw to Q’s lips and he sipped cool water gratefully.  When he coughed, the straw was taken away. James carded his fingers through his hair and held the back of his head gently while he recovered.  Finally Q was able to speak.

“J-James?   Have you killed them all?”

James chuckled as he reached over and tugged a soft blanket up the bed to cover Q’s lower body.

“Much as I would happily wipe out most of the staff in Medical for you, I don’t think M would approve.”

“M-Medical?”

Q frowned as he tried to process what James had said.  He was in Medical?

“Do you remember what happened?” James asked, his hand still stroking Q’s

( _damp?_ )

hair.  Q closed his eyes but opened them again at a soft, encouraging sound from James and another gentle stroke over his cheek.

“Hey…”

Q tried to pull together the fragments of his memory.  All he could remember was bright lights and screaming.  

“I’m not sure…”

James sighed.

“There was an explosion in R&D.  The new flash grenades Tozer’s been working on.  The ones that let off a secondary gas designed to disorientate and cause anxiety to anyone not caught in the immediate blast radius.  It looks like he got the timing of the trigger wrong on one and it went off by accident.  Luckily for you, you were leaving and had your back to the flashpoint.  It knocked you off your feet and you hit your head.  It was doubly lucky that you’d just had your swim.”  James ran his fingers through Q’s hair again.  “If this had been dry I think you’d have lost most of it.”

Q’s distress, barely abated, rose up again.  He didn’t want to be here.  Everything was too bright, too loud.  He whimpered and tried to move but James stilled him.

“Easy.  You’ve been banged about and the medics need to check your back.  Your clothes were still smouldering when they got to you.  Can they have a look?”

Q nodded and flinched when he felt someone else’s fingers touch a painful patch on his shoulder.  He cleared his throat and croaked:

“How’s Tozer?”

James looked grim.

“Going into surgery.  He’s definitely lost the sight in one eye.  They’re going to try to save the other.”

Q winced in sympathy and couldn’t help the sob that escaped him, the chemicals in his system weakening his control on his emotions.  James kissed his cheek and he looked up in surprise at the agent.  They’d agreed; no affectionate displays in the workplace.  James smiled at the confusion that must have shown in his face and leant in whispering;

“I’m just glad you’re OK.”

A logical part of Q knew that he was in good hands.  He knew that all the negative emotions he was feeling were chemically induced, but it didn’t stop him from beginning to cry as the hands on his back smeared some kind of salve onto his burns.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, horrified that he was suddenly feeling as frightened and helpless as a child.  James took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

“I’m not going anywhere…”

James kept a hold on his hand until all of Q’s injuries had been treated and he was allowed to escort him home.

 

 

-

Q stands naked in front of the mirror in his bedroom and scrutinises his body.

He is slim but not scrawny.  Years of swimming daily has toned him.  Staff who encounter him at MI6’s pool for the first time are usually shocked to see his tattoos. He loves them though.  Living in a world of structure and order and coding the bright ink reminds him that rules can be broken.  He has a tattoo of an octopus, one of the most intelligent sea creatures, on his left shoulder which coils down to his pierced nipple.  There is a tattoo of a phoenix, the bird forever being reborn, on his left arm and on the right are the words “Not all those who wander are lost” in cursive script amongst a beautiful Alan Lee illustration of a waterfall.  If he were to turn he would see the damaged tattoo of a biomechanical dragon nesting on its hoard of motherboards that covers most of his back.  James was going to pay for him to have it re-inked once the scars from the explosion had faded.  Q runs his fingers over the ink on his chest, much the way James had once.

He allows his hands to drop, his right smoothing down over his limp cock sleeping in its nest of riotous dark curls.  He studies it dispassionately.  It is no size to boast of.  His eyes drop to his legs.  Slim to the point of bony.  He’d always been rather self-conscious about his body.  He’d always thought he’d prefer to be bulkier and taller.  That was until he met James…

-

James had arrived on his doorstep half-drunk at two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, armed with a bag of shopping from Waitrose and a bottle of very expensive wine.  After several cups of black coffee, he’d taken over Q’s kitchen and cooked a truly fabulous meal.  He’d just flown in from Tulsa and was on a post-mission high after successfully thwarting a smuggling ring.

After dinner, they’d finished off the wine whilst making out like a couple of teenagers on the sofa.  Just as things were getting hot and heavy, James had announced he wanted a shower.

“I need to wash America off me before I fuck you,” he’d whispered before sucking on Q’s earlobe.

Q had playfully thumped him on the arm and told him not to be so bloody presumptuous but had suggested that they meet in Q’s bed after James got clean.  The agent scrambled off the sofa and ran to the bathroom in a way which made Q fall about laughing.  Q followed James out of the room and went into the bedroom.  He took condoms and lube out of the bedside drawer and dumped them on the bed before undressing quickly, hoping to be under the covers by the time James returned.  James had screwed him several times before (in his car, in James’s car, up against a tree in Richmond Park, and, on one memorable occasion, in a supplies closet at MI6, Q’s hands bracing the door shut while James covered his mouth to muffle his groans of pleasure whilst jerking him off as he took him hard and fast) but they’d never been in an actual bed together.  On all the previous occasions, Q hadn’t been completely naked and he wasn’t actually sure that a bright and sunny summer evening was the best time to…

“That shower is fantastic.  I may have to come round here more often just to… Jesus Q.”

Q’s head shot up as he saw James standing in the doorway, dripping wet and as naked as the day he was born.  He was frozen in the act of towelling dry his hair.  He looked like Michelangelo's David reincarnated.  Every inch of him was golden.  Muscles bunched and jumped under his tanned, scarred skin.  The hair on his head was wet and darker than usual so it now perfectly matched the neatly groomed thatch which surrounded his cock.  The organ itself was monstrous.  Hanging almost seven inches even in its dormant state, framed by his low hanging balls.  As James stared, it twitched and began to thicken.

Q had felt a momentary flash of embarrassment followed by another of irritation.  He was standing in just his black underwear now and he realised what he must look like.  Skinny, almost painfully so.  Not muscular and golden, but thin and pale.  His hands fluttered, wanting to cover the modest bulge in his pants but not wanting to draw attention to the fact that his cock was tiny compared to Bond’s.  He opened his mouth to tell James to go fuck himself and his judgements when the older man spoke again.

“You are… beautiful.”

Whatever Q was about to say escaped him as James dropped his towel and walked towards him.  Lightly slotting his hands over Q’s hips, where they seemed to fit perfectly, James kissed him slowly and sweetly.

“I never knew.  All those times.  I should have had you in a bed, every time.”

He kissed him again and then guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, where he encouraged Q to lie back with his lower legs still hanging over the side.

James sat next to him and idly traced the slim titanium bar that pierced Q’s left nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“Why not both?”

“Why not both what?” Q asked, confused momentarily by the look of awe on James’s face.

“Why not pierce them both?  Did this one hurt too much?”

Q shook his head and shivered as James gently pinched the other unmodified nub.  It peaked under his touch.

“Contrast,” he murmured as he felt the flare of desire in his loins, “I like the way they feel different…”

“I like the way they feel different too.”

Q had shivered as James had set his lips to the firm flesh.

He had expected to be fucked that day but James had taken his time.  Mapping out every inch of his skin until he’d been writhing and desperate to take off his underwear.  James had finally taken pity on him after mouthing at his growing erection through the taut black cotton for what felt like an age. James initially took him from behind but flipped Q before the end so he could watch him come.  He kept his rhythm slow, lying over Q and brushing his cock with his belly until Q couldn’t take any more and he came hard without a hand on him.  The look on James’s face was unfathomable – equal parts affection and passion as he pushed Q’s body to completion.

Later, as they dressed, James had slapped his arse and said he wasn’t such a bad shag for a twink.  Q retorted that he was surprised a man of James’s age could still get it up after half a bottle of wine.  It was almost like they hadn’t just laid together for an hour after they’d made love, James spooning him and running his fingertips over his body.  Like he hadn’t kissed the back of his shoulders before dropping his hand lower.

Like he hadn’t stroked Q slowly, changing his grip to keep Q on edge until he was trembling and begging for another release.  Like James hadn’t brought him to orgasm again whilst quietly murmuring sweet endearments into the side of his neck.

After all, it wasn’t like they were serious about each other or anything like that.

-

Q walks back into the main room.  He is still naked but he doesn’t notice.  He looks around and feels like he’s seeing the room for the first time.  It is a large room.  His desk is in one corner, his telly in the other.  Along  the wall opposite the window is the kitchen  He wanders over to a bookshelf where a lone, dog-eared photograph is propped up on one of the shelves.  James and Q on a beach in Torquay.  They’d driven down there in the middle of the night one impossibly hot weekend in June.  A passing dog-walker had taken the snap.  They were laughing at the camera, both naked except for their swimming trunks.

-

The first time he actually spoke to Bond, he was a nobody.  Not Bond; he was already a Double-0 agent.  M’s favourite, it was rumoured.  It was Q who was the nobody.  Back then he was just Tom from Tech Services, the lowest rung on the Q Branch ladder, still in his first year with MI6.  He’d seen Bond a few times around the place, usually annoying Boothroyd with his one-liners and cheeky quips.  Boothroyd would get flustered and angry with him but he’d always smile as he watched the agent leave.  The young Q would have laid good money on the fact that Bond was his favourite too.

Q was in the habit of taking a swim either before or after his shift depending on his schedule.  It helped him to relax and think and, to be honest, MI6’s pool was awesome.  It was the only subterranean pool he’d ever been in and he loved the way the underwater lights reflected onto the low ceiling.  He was heading there one lunchtime after finishing a very early morning shift when Bond followed him into the lift.  He’d never been in such close proximity to an agent before and he felt suddenly bashful as the man looked him up and down before grunting out a ‘morning’.  Q smiled a greeting back and saw Bond key in the code for subterranean level 6.  He spoke without thinking.

“Oh.  Are you heading for the pool too?”

Bond stared back at him for a moment before raising his right hand… which was covered in thick plaster.

“I’m afraid this may get a little wet if I did.  I’m off to Medical for a check-up.”

Q felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment.  Medical was on the same floor as the pool and handy for any patients undergoing hydrotherapy.

“Of course.  How silly of me.  Of course you aren’t.”

He wondered what the odds were of the lift cable snapping and him being put out of his misery by plunging to his death.  This was the first chance he’d had to talk to one of the legendary Double-0 agents and he’d had to say something as stupid as that.  He berated himself for not noticing Bond’s injury.  Then, just as he wouldn’t have believed he could make things any worse for himself, he blurted out;

“Does it hurt?”

Bond gave him a strange look and then answered slowly, as if speaking to a child;

“Yes.  It’s broken.”

“Oh, right.”

That was it.  Now he really felt like he could die.  Forget lift malfunctions; he could probably explode with embarrassment on the spot.  Bond kept staring at him as if he was an entomologist with a particularly interesting specimen on the end of his pin, a strange half-smirk on his face.  Just then the doors opened and Q made a run for it.  As he strode away he heard Bond ask:

“What’s your name?”

He turned, his face warm with residual embarrassment.

“Tom.”

“Tech Services, right?”

Q nodded.  

“Tell me Tom, do you swim often?”

“Every day, if I can.”

James smiled.

“Well then, I hope to see you in the pool one day.  I’ll bet you look good in Speedos…”

-

Q makes more tea.  He supposes he should eat, since he can’t remember the last time he did, but it feels like it would be too difficult.  He touches the whiskey bottle again but doesn’t pick it up.  He feels irrationally sad that he moved it from where James had left it.  He tries turning it to see if he can remember how it was, but he can’t.

He shivers.  It’s cold now as it’s the early hours of the morning.  The warm nights of September have given way to October and the first hint of Autumn.  He picks up the shirt that hangs over the stool next to him and slips it on.  It smells of James and an upsurge of grief rises over him like a tidal wave.  He drops his head and clutches the hot mug of tea to his chest until it passes.

- 

It was Q who’d asked James out in the end, not the other way around. 

He thought he’d call his bluff after months of the agent mercilessly teasing and flirting with him.

Q had jokingly taken James to a McDonalds drive-thru where, rather than be outraged, the agent had coolly asked for a Big Tasty burger (with bacon), large fries, a black coffee, and an apple pie.  He’d eaten his meal with such gusto and cracked so many corny jokes that Q had laughed so hard he’d almost puked.

They ended up having sex on the back seat of Q’s car in a layby in Cobham.  James took his turn to laugh when Q kept banging his head on the low ceiling as he tried to mount him.  He continued to laugh until Q’s hips found their rhythm and rendered him speechless.

As first dates went, Q had had worse.

-

Q finds a half-empty packet of cigarettes in a drawer.

He takes one and lights it on the gas hob.  It tastes like dried shit.  He gave up smoking three months ago at James’s insistence when he started to lose his stamina.   _We’re not all cut out to be smokers_ , he’d said, _and I don’t want you running out of steam mid-fuck_.  Q draws on the cigarette and relishes the burn in his lungs and the light-headedness it gives him.  He doesn’t suppose it matters if he smokes now.   James was always the one who encouraged him to take better care of himself and he…

He cuts off that line of thought.  He can’t bring himself to even think the words.  The death of an agent is a constant possibility.  It’s the nature of his job, but that doesn’t mean he has to get used to it.  It doesn’t mean he ever believed the dead agent would be…

He chokes off a sob and takes another drag.

-

Agent 004, Simon Fowler, bled out slowly and painfully and Q stayed with him on the comm until the end.

It should have been a simple mission, but Fowler had been compromised.  Although he had killed his attackers, he had been shot in the gut and was too far from help to be saved.

“Hurts.”

The agent’s voice had weakened considerably over the last ten minutes, but Q continued to speak to him calmly and precisely.

“I can imagine.  Hold on 004, help is on its way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Q saw R crying.  She got on well with Fowler and his wife and she’d gone to their baby shower a few months earlier.

Fowler was her friend.  Q looked away to his screens.  The nearest assistance was an Italian air base twenty-five miles away.  They were sending a team but they wouldn’t reach him in time.

“Q… my wife… tell her…”

“You can tell her yourself,” Q cut in smoothly as he switched over the audio feed to his earpiece; he would be the only one in the room to hear the man die. “We’re getting you out of there.”

There was a weak cough and a groan of pain.

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can,” Q responded matter-of-factly.  “What’s your son’s name?”

“Wh…? Um… Ben.  He’s called Ben.”

“Then you can do it because Ben deserves to have his daddy back, doesn’t he?”

“Should’ve retired…”

Q huffed out a humourless laugh.

“Shouldn’t we all?” 

Four hours later, there was a low knock at his office door. Bond came in without waiting for an invitation.  He carried a mug of tea, which he placed on Q’s desk.  Bond had become a more or less permanent fixture around Q Branch when off mission.  He had taken to visiting Q regularly, going over mission reports or enquiring about the latest tech.  At first Q had viewed his visits as an irritation but found, as months passed, that he was enjoying the time they spent talking together more and more.  

“What can I do for you 007?” he asked, really not wanting to get into a conversation right then.  He was only halfway through completing the paperwork that the Government deemed necessary when an agent died in the field.

“I heard what happened.” Bond replied.

“As did most of the building it seems.  Bad news travels fast.” Q looked back to his computer, willing the agent to leave.

“How are you?”

Q sighed.

“I’m fine.  Tired.”

“No.  How are you really?”

Q’s fingers hovered over his keyboard and he felt his chest tighten with a sudden burst of sorrow.  He swallowed and willed his voice to stay steady.

“Please, Bond.  Don’t.  Not here. I can’t talk about it here.  I’m not sure I could bear it.”

Bond was never one to listen to orders but Q was still surprised when he rounded his desk.  He dropped to his knees next to Q’s chair and placed a hand on his thigh.  The warmth from it soaked through his trousers to his leg.  For a moment an image jumped into his head of Bond as a huge dog begging for a treat.  Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up out of him.  He coughed and tried to move away.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, “please don’t make me.”

Bond’s hand smoothed up his thigh and back and then gently squeezed just above his knee.

“There’s no shame in feeling sadness, Q.”

Q shook his head and let it drop..

“I don’t want to,” he pleaded, “I have too much to do.  There’s all these reports to do and R’s gone to be with Fowler’s wife so I need to juggle the branch rotas and M want’s his report ASAP and the Italians want us to arrange to pick up his body and…”

“He was the first to die under your direction, wasn’t he?”

Bond’s voice was gentle, more gentle than Q would ever have believed it could be.  He ducked down to look up into Q’s eyes; 

“This wasn’t your fault and you don’t need to punish yourself for it.  Take it from me, you need to allow these emotions a chance to be felt otherwise they’ll eat you up.”

Q shuddered and then slumped. Bond knelt up and drew him into a tight embrace as if Q would topple without him there.  At any other time Q might have worried about the propriety of their actions but Bond was a solid, comforting presence and just what he needed.  He slipped his arms around Bond’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his aftershave.  

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Q allowing himself to cling on as Bond calmly held him, but his tea was cold when he eventually broke their embrace to sip at it.  James knelt back but kept the hand on his leg as he listened to him talk about how he wished he could have done more.

“You did more than enough.”

Q wiped his eyes and looked at him quizzically.

“How so?  The man’s dead.”

“You gave him the best equipment, the best support and when it came to it, you gave Fowler the one thing that he needed.”

“What?”

“Hope.  You made him think he might see his baby son again.  Because of you, when the end came, he died thinking of the people he loved and how soon he’d be seeing them again.”

Q shook his head at the foolishness of what Bond had just said but the man continued;

“Hope.  It’s what he needed.  He died thinking of his family, not his failures.  You have a gift for running the comms when we agents need assistance.  Your voice...  You have no idea how much you being there has helped me.  After the events at Skyfall when I went back into the field…” Bond hesitated, a quizzical look on his face, “You really don’t know how special you are, do you?.

Q didn’t resist when Bond took his hand and briefly squeezed it.  

“Of course, if you ever lie to me on my deathbed I shall sodding well hunt you down and haunt you until your dying day…”

Q huffed out a small laugh as he pulled his hand away.  When he turned back to his computer to carry on filling in paperwork James silently left him to it.

-

Q shakes another cigarette out of the packet and uses the stub of his last one to light it.  He wanders over to the window and looks out onto the Thames.  It is raining and the first tendrils of morning light are a somber grey.  He turns his back to the view and sits on the window seat, not really feeling the cold that seeps through the glass.  He sees James’s guitar leaning up against the wall and picks it up, strumming the strings.  The sound it makes is dull and tuneless.  Q takes off his glasses and tries to remember what the guitar sounded like in James’s hands.  James was the one who played.  James was the one who could make the metal and wood sing.

 

 

-

Full weekends off didn’t tend to happen for Q very often, but he’d managed to bag the two whole days out of the office barring any emergencies.

Friday night had been filled with takeaway food, booze, and a new Doctor Who marathon. He usually missed it when it aired and loved it when he finally got to catch up.  He was interrupted at around eleven o’clock, just as he was thinking about going to bed, by Bond suddenly appearing unexpectedly on his doorstep.  The job he was on had apparently finished early and he’d come straight from the airport to see Q.  The next five hours were spent having remarkably athletic sex before they fell into a deep sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

Q awoke alone to the sound of James shuffling about in the kitchen.  Seizing the opportunity, Q went into the bathroom and quickly showered.

When he got out and stood cleaning his teeth he became aware of the sound of the guitar being quietly played.  He’d bought the guitar as a joke after James had reminisced about the bloody awful music teacher his parents had sent him to as a child.  It was a piece of crap really, a battered old Fender acoustic he’d picked up in a second-hand shop for thirty quid.  James had loved it though and had painstakingly cleaned and re-strung it.

He quite often played it now, picking it up when he thought Q was busy doing something else and not really listening.  Q thought he heard soft singing and so walked to the half-open bathroom door, still brushing, to listen.

_“Don't be shy_

_It'll get you nowhere_

_I was shy_

_And it got me nowhere_

_And I feel like turning into a boy again”_

Q stopped brushing and swallowed the minty taste in his mouth.  James was singing one of his favourite songs.  Q quite often had the album playing in his office when he was working late and it was quiet.  He loved it and James knew that.  He went back to the sink and quickly finished cleaning his teeth.  When he was done he slipped on a pair of black yoga pants and padded through to where James sat playing on the window seat.

James looked up at him as he sang and instead of stopping like Q thought he might, he smiled and carried on, changing the lyrics so that he might have been singing about him.

_“… don't be cold when a lover calls you_

_Go to him, ask him to sing for you_

_Adore you_

_And he'll make you feel like you're a boy again_

_For a moment that will pass_

_For a moment that will pass”_

He strummed the tune for another minute or so before setting the guitar aside.  Q immediately climbed into his lap, his legs bracketing James’ thighs.

“That was lovely.”

James smiled and upturned his face so Q could kiss him.

“I was inspired.” He murmured as he ran his hands up Q’s naked sides.

Thirty-nine hours later James left for Russia.

-

The morning light creeps into the room and Q feels empty.

He is smoking another cigarette for something to do; there’s not many left now.

A traitorous, insidious whisper interrupts him from the back of his mind as he tries to think of something else he can try when he gets back into work to

( _James is dead_ )

help in the search for

( _James is dead_ )

his missing agent, something that

( _James is dead_ )

no-one has thought of yet. If he could just…

( _James is dead_ )

The fingers holding his cigarette tremble.

-

Neither of them had family but Q took James to meet his mother’s best friend, a sprightly seventy year old who fussed over them and gave them tea and biscuits.  As they went to leave she told James to make sure he took good care of young Tom.  James had nodded and solemnly agreed. On the walk back to the car he’d slipped his hand into Q’s and Q really didn’t know what to make of it.

-

There is scratching at the front door and Q wonders when Hypatia even went out.  He wonders if the catch has fallen on the flap again.

Quartermaster of one of the most technologically brilliant departments in the world and he can’t even make the time to find a way to stop his fucking cat from locking herself out.  He should get up and see to her – she hates being locked out – but he can’t move.  He feels paralysed by grief.  All he can do is sit and mourn the man he didn’t realise he’d fallen in love with.

 

-

Q sits and quietly sobs as night becomes day.

-

It’s been eleven hours since M changed the status of field agent 007, Commander James Bond, from ‘Active’ to ‘Missing in Action’...

-

Q thinks he must have dozed off sitting on the window seat, the back of his head resting on the cold pane of glass.  He imagines he sees James standing in the doorway to the room, the early-morning sun highlighting the paleness of his face.  He is wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans.  Hypatia coils around his legs like a serpent.  Q frowns, his eyesight fuzzy without his glasses.

Why would a dream be fuzzy?

The apparition says his name and then says:

“Did you miss me?”

His voice sounds uncertain, like he’s trying to joke but it’s falling flat.

Realisation hits Q like a freight train and he cries out before surging forward.  He tosses the guitar carelessly to one side as his grief is abruptly overwhelmed by anger.  In three strides he is close enough to punch James, a vicious right hook that catches his jaw.  Q is too fast, or perhaps James is just unwilling to defend himself, and his head snaps to one side.  He straightens up and rubs the red mark. 

“I suppose I deserve that.  Still, no harm done.  What’s one more bruise?” he quips, trying for humour again and he sounds so bloody happy to be back that Q’s anger turns to fury.  

He throws himself at James suddenly, irrationally, wanting to hurt him.  Wanting to make him feel the pain Q had been feeling for the past ten days. The anguish.  James is stronger, though, and calmer. He easily captures Q and holds him to his chest.  He tries to kiss him, but Q pulls back until James firmly holds his head and forces their lips together.  Q squirms and tries to get away.  He doesn’t want to be kissed.  He doesn’t want pleasure and tenderness.  He wants to punish James and to make him sorry.

James wraps his other hand around Q’s waist and pulls their bodies together.  James is hard and Q is suddenly aware that he is virtually naked as his bare cock is rubbed by denim.  He gasps at the rough drag of the fabric and James uses the opportunity to force his tongue into Q’s mouth where it lashes, demanding reciprocity.  Q bites instead and feels a feral kind of victory when he tastes blood.  Bond grunts and drops the hand circling his waist to roughly grab his bare arse cheek.  He forces his clothed erection painfully into Q’s naked one and the friction is almost too much at the same time as it is nowhere near enough.  The young man barely notices as he gives up the fight and demands more.

Grabbing James’s hair, he kisses him back and it is messy and violent and hungry.  He wraps first one leg, then the other around James’s waist, confident that his lover will support him.  He bucks his hips, teasing the head of his cock on the rough material.  James pulls away from the kiss and forces two fingers into Q’s mouth.  Q sucks on them enthusiastically before James drags them out.  Moments later Q feels them push into his arse and he cries out at the pleasure and the pain of it.  He knows he should tell James to stop.  He’s not prepared.   He wasn’t expecting this.  Not now.  Not ever again.  He tries to tell him but the agent won’t stop kissing him.  The air is forced from his lungs as he is slammed up against the wall.  James braces him there, his forearms under Q’s knees, his two fingers still working and stretching Q painfully quick.  His other hand fumbles with his jeans, popping the buttons and drawing himself out.  Spitting into his hand, he smears the saliva over his erection.

Q sobs as he is lowered onto the thick head of James’s cock.  It feels too big, he’s not ready, but gravity can’t be bargained with and he is slowly stuffed full, glutted.  Once fully sheathed, James gives him no time to adjust and begins to rock into him.  Q can do nothing but hold on, trembling at the intensity.  His prostate is repeatedly nudged but there is nothing teasing about this.  He’s gone soft with the pain but as James persists, stopping regularly to smear more saliva around Q’s abused hole, there is a kind of peace.  Endorphins rush until Q zones out, breathing open-mouthed onto James’s neck as he chases his pleasure using his young lover’s body, fucking Q mercilessly.

Q shivers as he is laid out on his own desk and his legs fall open.  James continues to thrust into him and Q can see him clearly now.  He can see his face and the shadows in his eyes.  He briefly wonders just where he’s been for the past ten days.  James isn’t looking at him though – he’s too busy watching where their bodies meet.  Q reaches up and strokes his face, drawing his attention.  Their eyes meet for a brief moment and then James’s close.

With a harsh sob, James comes and the going suddenly gets easier.  Half a dozen gliding strokes, eased by James’s spend lubricating the way, is all it takes to make Q begin to harden again.  For a second James is still before he withdraws.  He falls to his knees, tugging Q up onto shaking legs until he is gripping onto the side of the desk, holding himself up.  James kisses his hips and his thighs.  He sucks and licks at each bollock in turn before he takes his still half-flaccid cock into his mouth and draws on it.  Lathing the head with his tongue, he braces Q’s hip with one hand when he staggers.  Q moves a trembling hand to stroke James’s hair when he feels the fingers return to his arse.  He curls over James, unable to stay upright as they enter his passage and gently fuck into him.  He feels the come as it runs down his thighs but there is still more than enough slick for James to gently smear it over his prostate.  It feels divine but he can’t last like this and, too soon, he comes.  Gripping James’s shoulder he watches as he sucks and licks every drop of his issue from his flesh.

When Q’s tremors stop, James kneels up and, putting his face to Q’s belly, he hugs him.  He shudders and hot tears smear Q’s skin as he begins to repeat over and over;

“I’m sorry.”

Q wonders what it is that James is sorry about.

“I’m sorry.”

( _i hurt you_ )

“I’m sorry.”

( _i couldn’t tell you i was alive_ )

“I’m sorry.”

( _i couldn’t get back to you sooner_ )

“I’m sorry.”

( _i never told you how much i love you_ )

Q holds his head and brushes his other hand over the side of James’s neck.  He marvels at the pulse of life he feels under his fingertips.

-

Later the agent will be debriefed and he will submit his report.

Later the Quartermaster will use the report as part of a study into how the agent was able slip past their surveillance.

In short, life will go on and lessons will be learned.

-

But for now Q is content to simply hold onto his love – this man he thought he’d lost forever - and soothe him as he weeps.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is pretty dark in places. There’s a moment of “assumed” non-con (where Q is disorientated and misunderstands an ultimately non-threatening situation) and some pretty rough sexing at the end.
> 
> FYI. The song that James sings towards the end of the story is “Don’t Be Shy” by Fyfe Dangerfield. There’s a lovely acoustic version to be found here… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3znQbHByQA


End file.
